It was a chilly morning at the chateau site. Kent stood by a big stone wall, looking at his work plans.
His coat was buttoned up tight against the cold. His mind kept wandering to Gaesha—her happy laugh, her soft kiss from the other day.
It made his heart feel warm. But he pushed those thoughts aside to focus on his job. Then he heard a sharp sound—heels clicking fast on the stone path.
"Kent!" a voice called out, loud and smooth.
He turned around, and his stomach dropped. It was Claire Dupont, his ex-fiancée.
She looked fancy, like always. Tall, blonde, wearing a shiny black coat and bright red lipstick.
She was everything Gaesha wasn't, all polished and perfect.
"Claire," Kent said, his voice stiff. He felt tense all over. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm in Paris," Claire said, giving him a big smile. "I'm here for a photo shoot. I thought I'd come say hi."
"Why?" Kent asked, frowning. "We're done, Claire."
"Oh, don't be so cold," Claire said, stepping closer. Her perfume was strong, filling the air around him. "I miss you, Kent. Don't you miss me at all?"
"No," Kent said flatly. "It's been two years."
"Two years doesn't mean anything," Claire said, waving her hand. "We were good together, Kent. Don't you remember how happy we were?"
"No," Kent said, his voice hard. "You left me. I moved on."
Claire laughed, but it sounded fake, like she was acting.
"Moved on?" she said, looking around. "Here? Fixing up old houses in the middle of nowhere?"
"Yes," Kent said, standing taller. "I like it here."
"You're better than this, Kent," Claire said, her voice sharp now. "You don't belong here. Come back to London with me. We could have everything again."
"No," Kent said, shaking his head. "I'm staying."
Just then, Mark walked over, looking curious.
"Hey, Kent," he said, glancing at Claire. "Who's this?"
"Claire," Kent said, his voice tight. "My ex."
"Ex-fiancée," Claire corrected, flashing a smile at Mark. "Hi. I'm a model."
"Cool," Mark said, nodding. "What's going on?"
"Just visiting," Claire said, her voice sweet but cold. "Kent and I have some things to talk about."
"No, we don't," Kent said, his jaw tight. "You should go, Claire."
"Not yet," Claire said, tilting her head. "I'm here all week. Think about it, Kent."
She turned and walked away, her heels clicking loud on the stone. Mark let out a low whistle.
"Wow, she's fancy," he said. "She gonna cause trouble?"
"Yes," Kent said, rubbing his forehead. "Big trouble."
That afternoon, Gaesha came to the chateau site, bouncing with energy. She carried a box of cookies she'd baked just for Kent.
Her heart felt light, still floating from their kiss by the river. She spotted Kent standing by a fence and waved big.
"Kent!" she called, her voice bright. "Hi!"
Kent turned, and his face softened, but his smile looked forced.
"Hi," he said. "What's that?"
"Cookies!" Gaesha said, holding up the box proudly. "For you. Chocolate chip, your favorite."
"Thanks," Kent said, taking the box.
But his voice sounded flat, not like him. Gaesha's smile faded a little.
"You okay?" she asked, tilting her head. "You look… weird. Like something's wrong."
"I'm fine," Kent said, looking away. "It's just work stuff."
"Liar," Gaesha said, crossing her arms. "Come on, Kent. Tell me what's going on."
Before he could say anything, Claire walked up again, her heels loud on the ground.
"Kent," she said, her voice smooth, completely ignoring Gaesha. "How about dinner tonight? Just us."
Gaesha blinked, confused.
"Who's this?" she asked, looking between them.
Claire finally turned to Gaesha, her eyes scanning her up and down like she was judging.
"And you are?" she said, her voice icy.
"I'm Gaesha," Gaesha said, standing straight. "Kent's… friend."
"Friend?" Claire said, letting out a sharp laugh. "That's cute. I'm Claire. Kent's fiancée."
"Ex," Kent said quickly, his voice sharp. "Ex-fiancée, Claire."
"Details," Claire said, waving it off like it didn't matter. "Who's this, Kent? A baker or something?"
"Yes," Gaesha said, lifting her chin. "I own a bakery. Gaesha's Sweets. It's mine."
"How charming," Claire said, her smile fake and mean. "So… small-town. Really, Kent? This is who you're with now?"
"Stop it," Kent said, stepping closer to Gaesha. "She's good, Claire."
"Good?" Claire said, laughing again. "She's a mess. Look at her—flour all over her shirt, that cheap scarf. Come on."
Gaesha's hand went to her blue scarf, her cheeks turning red.
"It's not cheap," she said, her voice small but firm. "It's mine. I like it."
"Sure," Claire said, rolling her eyes. "Kent deserves better. Someone like me."
"No," Kent said, his voice loud now. "I don't want you, Claire."
"You did," Claire said, stepping closer to him. "Before this… whatever she is."
"My name's Gaesha," Gaesha said, her voice shaking a little. "Not 'she.' Gaesha."
"Fine," Claire said, her smile cold. "Gaesha. Stay out of our way."
"She's not in the way," Kent said, his eyes flashing. "You are."
Claire smirked, like she didn't believe him.
"We'll see about that," she said.
Then she turned and walked off, her heels clicking away again.
Gaesha stared at the ground, her arms wrapped around herself.
"She's so fancy," she said, her voice quiet. "And pretty. Really pretty."
"She's mean," Kent said, stepping close to her. "Forget her, Gaesha."
"She's your ex?" Gaesha asked, looking up at him. "You were going to marry her?"
"Yes," Kent said, nodding. "A long time ago. She left me."
"Why's she back now?" Gaesha said, her voice small.
"To bother me," Kent said, his voice firm. "I don't care about her."
Gaesha hugged herself tighter, her eyes on the ground.
"She's right," she said. "I'm a mess. Flour on my shirt, my scarf… I'm not like her. You deserve someone better."
"No," Kent said, his voice soft but strong. "You're perfect, Gaesha."
"Not like her," Gaesha said, shaking her head. "She's tall and smart and probably rich."
"She's cold," Kent said, taking a step closer. "You're warm. You're kind. I want you, not her."
Gaesha looked up at him, her eyes wet with tears.
"Really?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"Yes," Kent said, nodding. "Really. I mean it."
She nodded slowly, wiping her eyes.
"Okay," she said. "I believe you. But… I feel so small right now. Like I'm not enough."
"Don't," Kent said, his voice gentle. "You're big, Gaesha. Bigger than her. You're real. She's not."
"Thanks," Gaesha said, giving him a tiny smile. "I'm trying to feel better. It's hard."
"I know," Kent said.
He reached out and took her hand, his fingers warm against hers.
"Stay here," he said. "Eat a cookie with me."
"Okay," Gaesha said, her voice a little stronger.
They walked to a wooden bench nearby and sat down, the box of cookies between them. Gaesha opened it and handed him one.
"Here," she said. "They're good. I made them for you."
"Thanks," Kent said, taking a bite. "They're great."
Gaesha took a cookie too, nibbling on it. She still felt small, like Claire's words were stuck in her head.
But Kent's hand holding hers made her feel a little safer, a little stronger.
"I don't like her," she said quietly. "She's trouble."
"She is," Kent said, nodding. "But she's not my trouble anymore. You're my… my person."
Gaesha's heart skipped.
"Your person?" she said, looking at him. "Really?"
"Yes," Kent said, his cheeks turning a little red. "If… if you want to be."
"I do," Gaesha said, her smile growing. "I really do."
"Good," Kent said.
He squeezed her hand, and they sat there, eating cookies and watching the chateau site get quieter as the day went on.
Gaesha's heart still hurt a little, but with Kent next to her, she felt like she could handle it.
Claire was trouble—she knew it deep down. But Kent was hers, and that was enough for now.
They stayed on the bench for a while, not talking much. Gaesha leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder.
"These cookies are good, right?" she asked, her voice soft.
"The best," Kent said, his voice warm. "Just like you."
Gaesha laughed, a small, happy sound. "You're sweet," she said. "Even when I feel messy."
"You're not messy," Kent said. "You're Gaesha. That's better than anything."
She smiled, her heart feeling lighter. "Thanks, Kent," she said. "For picking me."
"Always," he said, and he meant it.